YOU HAD TO GO TO FUNERALS You had to go to funerals Even if you didn't know the People Your Mama always did Usually your Pa. In new patent leather shoes It wasn't so bad And if it rained The graves dropped open And if the sun was shining You could take some of the Flowers home In your pocket book. At six and seven The face in the gray box Is always your daddy's Old schoolmate Mowed down before his Time. You don't even ask After a while What makes them lie so Awfully straight And still. If there's a picture of Jesus underneath The coffin lid You might, during a boring sermon, Without shouting or anything, Wonder who painted it; And how he would like All eternity to stare It down. [by Alice Walker, more to come ...] -- ╭─╮╭╮ ╭╮╮ ╭╮ │╰╯│╰╮╭╭╮│ │╭─╮╭ ╮│╰╮"At the touch of love everyone ╭╮││ ╯││││ │╭ │││││ ╯ becomes a poet." ╰─╯╰╰╯╰─│╰╯╯╰╰╯╰╰╯╰╰╯ -- Plato ───── ╰─╯ ─────────── http://darkshadows.org/~skyhawk ─ --

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